Lucky Strike
by Genevieve Darcy Granger
Summary: Rick is trying to readjust to the single life and being a father to a teenager when he meets Negan. The question is – will he take a chance to live a little for himself this time?


Rick Grimes is a good father. He may not think so since he's a recently divorced father struggling to get back on his feet after his ex-wife just married his best friend and he is readjusting to his job again after the accident and coma; but Rick Grimes is a good dad.

Between the hours at physical therapy and the forty-hour work week on light duty doing paper work, Rick found the time to go pick up Carl from his mom's for the weekend and take him bowling. Recently, though, since school has started back, Rick doesn't get to see Carl as much. He just started freshman year at high school, and as much as Rick would love to have Carl at his apartment, his apartment is almost an hour away from school because of the traffic in the morning – and Carl actually wants to ride the bus so he can be with his friends.

So, things don't work out, and as Carl adjusts, Rick as it turns out, doesn't learn that Carl joined the baseball team until he's already a month into practices. The only reason he finds out is when he's picking up Carl for the weekend and he's got a shiny black eye.

"What happened?" Rick asked over Carl's head while his son sullenly shouldered past him, leaving his mom to answer.

"Carl is on the baseball team, and their coach is a little intense." Lori has that tone that Rick had learned to watch out for. She was angry, the kind of low simmering anger that reveals itself when she would passive-aggressively slam pots and pans cleaning the kitchen after dinner, stubbornly refusing to accept any help from anyone else. "I already tried to talk to the coach about it, but he just brushed it off."

"Did Shane talk to him, too?"

Rolling her eyes, Lori crossed her arms over the slightest curve of her baby bump. She had announced her pregnancy at the beginning of the school year amongst their friends and that the wedding was pushed up to early May instead of June because of it. Genuinely, Rick was happy for them, though he didn't envy Shane dealing with Lori's first trimester crabbiness now. "You know how he is," Lori sighed, "Shane doesn't talk; he accuses and yells – and the coach just yelled back a few f-bombs."

"I'll talk to him," Rick assured her and turned to get back in his car, but Lori's voice stopped him.

"Trust me, Rick, it isn't worth it. This guy doesn't care what we say."

Just before he climbed back into his car, Rick looked back over his shoulder at Lori and nodded his head, repeating, "I'll talk to him."

* * *

On the drive home, Rick tried to ask about the injury from Carl, but the fourteen-year-old was fully embracing the reticence of every teenager as he mostly ignored him in favor of his phone, not even bothering to pull out his earbuds. "Carl," Rick sighed, and refused to unlock his apartment until at least some of his questions were answered. "Just tell me what happened."

Shrugging, Carl tipped his head so that some of his hair fell in front of his eye. "Ron pitched the ball to me, and I tried to catch it. I didn't, and it hit me in the face. Happy?"

"Ron? That Anderson boy?"

"Yeah."

Placing his hand on Carl's shoulder, Rick emphasized, "If he's bullyin' you, you can tell me. I can talk to the coach–"

"No! Don't do that. That'll just make Coach go harder on me and I'll have to run more laps at practice. He threatened to bench me for the first game just to get Mom and Shane off his back about it." Tilting his head up, Carl stared at him with one wide blue eye and Rick felt like he looking back at three-year-old Carl begging to be put on his shoulders so he could be tall enough to pet the horse on the nose. "Please, Dad. Don't embarrass me. I can handle this."

Taking his time, Rick unlocked the door, mulling over Carl's words. "What do you mean by handle it? Are you fightin' with the Anderson boy? Did he do it on purpose?"

"No, it's just – people get hurt at practice all the time, Dad. It's a sport. Coach doesn't baby us. He treats us like adults. He just tells us to rub some dirt in it and we keep going." Carl followed Rick inside, already heading towards the spare bedroom that has officially become his bedroom when he was here. "No big deal."

"It is a big deal if you're gettin' hurt." Tossing his keys on the countertop, he bypassed flipping on the kitchen light since he still hasn't switched out the broken LED bulb yet, and made a beeline for Carl's room instead. It's his turn to trail after him. "You're not adults, Carl. You're just kids. This is supposed to be fun for you."

"This isn't like Little League, Dad. I am having fun. I play short-stop and Coach thinks I could make the varsity team next year if I work hard." Carl sat on his bed, surrounded by posters of bands Rick doesn't recognize, his old skateboard and guitar abandoned against the wall as relics of Carl's past interests long forgotten. For the first time in a while, there is a spark in Carl's eye that Rick hasn't seen since he woke up from his coma. Rick understood that this was puberty, and that the divorce was hard on top of the accident, but all he has ever wanted was for Carl to be happy.

Carl saw his dad's wavering, and he helpfully added, "Y'know, college baseball scholarships are pretty good."

With a half-smile, Rick quipped, "Are you thinkin' of joinin' the Major League, too? That pays well."

They shared a laugh and then Carl asked with hope leaking through his tone, "So you won't talk to Coach?"

Ruffling Carl's hair, Rick blithely continued, "Oh, I'm gonna speak with your coach." At Carl's look, Rick explained, "Just talk, I promise. So, what's your coach's name?"

"Coach Negan."

* * *

The first opportunity Rick gets to go see Coach Negan isn't for another two weeks. By then Carl's ink-stain black eye had faded to a sickly yellowish-green color, the underside of his eyes only dark enough to pass off as being from lack of sleep. Rick had been kept busy with paperwork, but he deliberately left this Thursday afternoon open so that he could pick up Carl from practice and meet his coach. Carl's first baseball game would be that Saturday, and Rick had every intention of going; but first, he figured he should meet the man that Carl talked so much about.

It was hard for Rick to get a feel of Coach Negan just from Carl's opinion. Some days he ranted and raved about how unfair Coach Negan was and how he could be such a hard-ass. Other days, he said that Coach Negan was cool and that he picked up pizza dinner for the team on good practice days and how he even helped Carl with his geometry homework. To Rick, the way Carl's opinion changed so often reminded him of how Carl would complain about Shane's PDA with Lori but then in the next breath shrug it off when Shane took him fishing. For Coach Negan, Rick was prepared for anything, or so he thought.

As soon as Rick got out of his patrol car, he could hear hoarse shouting from the baseball diamond. The closer that he got, the more he was able to distinguish the shouts as names and curses that could turn the very air blue. "Jesus fucking Christ, Jones! My grandma can run faster than that and she's been fucking six feet under for twenty-five goddamn years! Move your ass!"

The tips of Rick's ears went red. He was halfway torn between just plain shock and parental outrage. Still, he managed to hold his tongue for the moment as he turned his attention to the field to look for Carl. After hearing all of that vehement, hot air, Rick was avoiding looking at the coach until he calmed down a bit more to have a civilized conversation with him.

Currently, the boys of the baseball team were running laps around the field – the perimeter of the outfield instead of the baselines. Easily identifiable by his long brown hair pulled back into a low ponytail, Carl looked like he was keeping pace with the others towards the head of the pack, Rick noticed with a hint of pride. It looked like he was fighting for the lead with the Anderson boy, long and lanky and somehow still pale despite the sunny afternoon practices. Rick suspected the Jones boy was the one obviously lagging behind, holding his red baseball cap in his hand and using it to fan his face.

"Hey, look, kid-tickler. This isn't a goddamn peep show so hit the road before you hit the pavement."

Startled, Rick spun to face Negan and sputtered, "Excuse me?"

And then he saw who he was talking to; Rick's mouth went a little dry.

Coach Negan was stupidly gorgeous. Hazel eyes framed by a smudge of dark eyelashes that brushed across his high cheekbones. Silver laced stubble surrounding his kissable – albeit stern – mouth. Mostly, Rick noticed how massive he was, both in height and in the breadth of his shoulders. Logically, he knew that as a coach and gym teacher, Negan would have to be somewhat fit, but damn… Rick would feel a little more self-conscious if he didn't know that his muscle mass took a hit from the coma anyway and if he wasn't more preoccupied with how he was feeling attraction rather than jealousy.

Quickly, he tried to shake it off, noting that he wore the typical whistle necklace of a coach and a red baseball cap like the rest of the team, but he was probably bald underneath it. Or balding. No man should be able to make mesh-material of red basketball shorts look so good.

Of course, Negan did.

Rick felt like he could almost see the outline of his – Coach Negan was talking again.

"I've never seen your ass before – and believe me, I never forget an ass," Coach Negan started, his muscled arms defensively crossed over his burly chest, "So seeing you here watching high school boys makes you creepy as shit. And I've got two words to say to that."

"Yes?" Rick asked, sure he would regret it.

Untucking his hand, Negan brandished his middle finger as he counted, "Fuck. Off." His popped off thumb ended the count.

Rick's eyes strayed to the offensive digit, taking in the tattoos on his knuckles but unable to read the script upside down. He looked back up to the coach again with an entirely artificial calmness. "I'm a parent here to pick up my son."

If Rick thought that that would light a fire under Negan's ass and get him to apologize – which Rick did think so to some extent – then he would be wrong – which he was. Uncontrite, Coach Negan recrossed his arms, all flexing muscles that promised power and reminded Rick of the restless big cats at the zoo, even though Carl hasn't begged to go there since he hit the double digits. "Uh huh," Negan said disbelievingly, "which one?"

"Carl," Rick ground out on his back molars, threatening to crack a tooth, "Carl Grimes."

"Bullshit," Negan scoffed, "Get the fuck outta here. I've talked to Carl's dad."

"Step-dad," Rick corrected him, "Shane Walsh."

Finally, Negan squinted at him with outright suspicion, taking Rick seriously. "Oh shit, you're right. I do see the resemblance." He didn't seem all that embarrassed by his mistake as he literally shrugged the misunderstanding off. "I just thought he favored his momma."

Rick's gaze tracked the ripple of muscle under the coach's dingy white shirt, emblazoned with the school logo of a capital 'K' adjacent to the school mascot of a knight over his left pectoral muscle that strained against the fabric. If only the white of his shirt was just a little less opaque…

"It's the fucking stink-eye," Negan clarified when Rick didn't speak again. "You and Carl both have a way of looking like I took a piss in your Cheerios and added a big, steamy pile of shit on your toast, too."

He smiled at Rick as if they were best friends sharing a secret, and his teeth were absolutely perfect. White. Not too much gum. A little crooked, but that only added character. Rick was starstruck. It was unnerving how quickly he forgot how irritated he was with the coach before he smiled at him like that. Or how vulgar and graphic he was, too.

Again, when Negan didn't get a response, he turned to look at the field where his players were still running their laps. "So, Grimes, why'd you show up today? Your ex-wife not tell you that practice doesn't end until 5:30?"

Remembering why he was here, Rick cleared his throat and hoped he wasn't blushing. "No, I just came here early because I needed to speak with you about something."

"Oh fuck," Negan sighed, briefly dropping his head. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other in a mannerism that made him seem so much younger than what all that silver in his beard meant he was. "I hate when you parents say that shit. Makes me feel like I'm in the goddamn principal's office – and yeah, I've been there a-fucking-lot. And recently."

"Because of all the f-bombs?" Rick guessed. "Are you sure you should talk to your students this way?"

"They fucking love it." Negan waved his hand dismissively. "Makes them feel like adults."

Thinking back to what Carl said before, Rick could see Negan's point.

"So, not that I don't love shooting the shit with someone as sexy as you, but I am on the fucking clock coaching. What did you want to chew my ass out for?" Negan gave a lewd grin. "Because I can think of another time and place for you to do that to me if you're fucking interested," he finished with a meaningful and over-the-top wink.

This time Rick felt his face heat up and go scarlet, and even with his own beginnings of a beard, he knew Negan had to see it flush across his nose and up to the very tips of his ears. He ducked his head down briefly, eyes watering as he tried not to choke on his spit. When he lifted his chin again, Negan was grinning at him, unabashed, with hazel eyes sparkling with mischief.

"Carl came home with a black eye from practice a few weeks ago." Rick propped his knuckles on his hips. "I want to know if it was just an accident or if the Anderson boy is giving him trouble."

Negan rolled his head on his neck, shoulder muscles bunching and rippling beneath his shirt. He shoved one hand in his pocket in the very posture of relaxed. "And why would 'the Anderson boy'," he loosely quoted, fingers in the air, "be giving Carl any trouble?"

"It's complicated," Rick grumbled, not thinking an explanation was necessary. He dodged Negan's curious gaze, once again looking to the outfield to track Carl's progress.

"Come on, you can't just say it's fucking complicated without telling me why. I'm a goddamn gym teacher. I live for the fucking gossip," Negan joked around, also turning to face the outfield. His elbow nudged against Rick's ribs, a little too rough to be playful, but the gesture still definitely accidental in its force. It was like a Rottweiler who thought it was a golden retriever puppy. "This school runs off the goddamn rumor mill, Mr. Mysterious, so tell me or I'll just make something up. Spill the tea."

"What?" Rick quirked an eyebrow in confusion.

"It's what the kids say," Negan said without shame, "Keep up."

Wrinkling his nose, Rick shyly looked away again. "I was the arresting officer for Dr. Pete Anderson," he explained. "Ron's dad. Ron was there, unfortunately."

Negan's impressed whistle rang through the air. "Damn, you're Officer Cutthroat." He chuckled quietly to himself and then hummed thoughtfully. Rick could feel the vibrations of his low timbre thrum through him, not altogether unpleasant, though it caused the hair on the back of his neck to prick in attention. "Anderson, yeah, he was the surgeon accused of operating while drunk?"

That was no surprise that Negan knew. It was heavily printed in the _Alexandrian Times _that a number of Anderson's patients came forward with lawsuits about unnecessary surgery risks, their voices spearheaded by Anderson's assistant, Denise Cloyd, who bore witness and couldn't stomach his process.

"Yes, but that's not what I arrested him for." Before Negan could ask, Rick relented, "We got a call about screaming from their neighbor and that wasn't the first time that happened. Domestic violence, and he was under the influence." Shifting from foot to foot, Rick remembered the trouble a bigger guy like Pete gave him after they took a tumble through a window. His face could have been worse, looking back at it. "It wasn't pretty."

"Oh, I fucking see. Officer Cutthroat had to get down and dirty on the job," Negan teased and then what humor that was in his voice dropped. "Shit, and his son was there for that? Domestic violence? What a fucking asshole." He shook his head. "I guess that great big asshole taught Ron to be a little asshole, huh?"

Sharply, Rick turned to Negan again. "So, Ron has been bullying Carl?"

"I wouldn't call it bullying." Seeing Rick's frown deepen, Negan cut him off, "Well, it's not like Carl doesn't fucking stick up for himself. They're both pretty fucking evenly matched." Negan's big meaty palm clapped him on the shoulder, nearly knocking him off-balance as he continually surprised him with these friendly touches. "Congrats, Ricky-Dicky. You've just guaranteed the start of a beautiful fucking high school rivalry."

Heat flushed through Rick, half-anger and half-embarrassment. He knew that what Negan said was right, but that doesn't mean he's not still upset about it. "Does that mean Carl's black eye wasn't an accident?"

Negan waved his hands in a 'What-do-you-want-me-to-do?' gesture. "Kinda fucking late to be asking that now, ain't it?"

Rick crooked his jaw, working it side to side. "Carl told me it was just an accident. But you don't think so? Did you see it?"

"I gave Carl and Ron the chance to tell the fucking truth and they both brushed it off. Not much I could do but let them work it out." Negan dragged his teeth over his bottom lip, releasing it with one sharp tug as he broke out into a wry grin. "I gotta say, though, their little rivalry has been fucking great for team morale. Really pushing each other to be better. Hating someone's goddamn guts is the best motivator."

After a pause, Rick shook his head at Negan and turned back to the field. Carl's rivalry with Ron was just something he was going to have to handle on his own, it seemed. As he watched Carl and his teammates start their third lap around the diamond (at least since he's been here), Rick asked, "So other than Ron, Carl is really doing good?"

Snorting, Negan jostled his elbow into Rick's ribs again, narrowly missing the healed, albeit tender scar from the gunshot that put him in a coma. Sometimes when Rick ran for too long on the treadmill, instead of feeling a stitch in his side, it felt like the bullet was still there, chipping at his ribs. Phantom pain, initially masked by his shock and the hospital's drugs, but it didn't bother him too much. Still, he shied a little away from Negan, though he didn't want to, and tried to zero in on what he was saying rather than the pleasant drag of his voice.

"You gotta cut the fucking umbilical cord sometimes, Rick. Can't go around being a mother goose all your life."

This time it was Rick's turn to snort and the corner of his mouth twitched up in a smile that he hid as he turned his face away. His new partner Tara had teased him about his mother goose nature, too, after he took her under his wing at the station. She was being trained to replace him so that he could do a little less footwork after the accident before, and she was eager to please, protect, and serve. "Yeah, I'll get right on that."

"Tell you what, Mother Goose. Why don't we make a bet? If Carl gets a homerun Saturday, I'll take you on a date." Without waiting to see if Rick would agree, Negan confidently stuck his hand out for a shake. "Deal?" It was said more like an agreement than a question.

Startled, his eyes flew upward and connected with Negan's, over shadowed by the wrinkle of confusion in his brow. Rick coughed, his chest too tight and flushing hot in his uniform shirt. "Excuse me?"

"A date, Grimes. And I'm not talking about the fucking fruit." It was Negan's lamest joke yet, and surprisingly not vulgar. Rick shyly looked away to Carl again, his thoughts immediately chasing circles around how his son would feel about him dating his coach when Negan plucked his hand from his hip and shoot it firmly.

"It's always nice to see a parent who gives a shit, but how about you think about yourself and how you feel for once, huh?" Negan said, now sandwiching Rick's hand between his own in a tender fashion, once again surprising Rick. His palms were rough with callouses from his work, his fingers distractingly thick and longer than Rick's, and now Rick could read "Love" across the knuckles of one hand. And his hands were massive, especially when compared to Rick's. "Come on, I know you find me hot as shit. Gimme a fucking chance or lose me forever," Negan gently coaxed, and as Rick's eyes darted up from their joined hands to meet Negan's gaze again, he gave in.

"Alright."

Negan's face cracked another toothy grin, all promised wickedness hidden in his dimples and smile lines. "Fan-fucking-tastic." He squeezed Rick's hand three times and then let it slip from his grasp. "Wear something sexy, and maybe keep the handcuffs."

Rick couldn't tell if Negan was joking, but he had a feeling that he wasn't.

With a wink, he casually walked away to the baseball diamond, picking up the whistle that dangled around his neck and blowing it until it hit the shrillest note possible. "Get your asses back to the dugout! Jones! Pick up the goddamn pace! Did I say you could stop fucking running?!"

In a daze, Rick drifted back to the safety of his patrol car under the internal excuse of needing his AC to cool off. Unconsciously, he cradled his hand, fingertips tingly in memory. Of all the ways he pictured this going down – especially after Lori's warning – this was not what he had imagined at all. Still, he couldn't say he was disappointed.

* * *

Saturday came all too quickly. Rick had already taken the day off to see Carl's first game. Coincidentally, this was a weekend where Carl would be with his mother. Vaguely aware of the plans Carl made to have a couple of his teammates for a sleepover after the game, Rick hoped that for Lori and Shane's shared sanity – as well as his bias for his son – that the Alexandrian Knights would win. And that was his sole hope for it…no other reason at all.

At the game, Rick sat a fair distance away from Lori and Shane. Both of them were firmly stuck in their honeymoon stage with Shane's arm covetously around Lori and Lori glowing from her pregnancy, hands resting on the swell of her stomach. Yet as uncomfortable and as hot to the touch the metal bleacher seats were, Shane and Lori made it look like they never left the comfort of their living room loveseat. Meanwhile, Rick was still awkward and unused to being alone; and he also felt like a voyeur for watching them, quickly turning his attention away.

He wasn't alone for long, though, when Jessie Anderson chose to sit beside him with her youngest. While young Sam Anderson was obviously reluctant to be near Rick (or even at the baseball game at all judging by the Nintendo Switch he clutched in his hands), Rick was also surprised considering his history with the Anderson family.

"Hi Deputy Grimes," Jessie greeted warmly as if they were friends – or more than friends.

"Hey Jessie," Rick replied a little more neutrally. "Call me Rick. I'm off-duty."

"Rick, then," she purred, and Rick regretted giving her permission.

Nervous, he glanced at Sam, whose nose was stuck to the screen of his video game. After clearing his throat and nodding, Rick looked to the dugout where he could see the shadows of Carl's team gathered around Coach Negan. He wouldn't lie and say he hadn't paid another thought to Negan's bet. In fact, he mildly obsessed over it.

There were several factors that made him wonder if this was the right choice. For one, there was his divorce to consider if he was ready for any new relationships. For another, there was the fact that Negan was Carl's coach, which would be difficult to deal with if things didn't work out. The fact that their relationship would be between two men was also something that mildly terrified Rick. He had always been attracted to men and women, but he had never been open about it. What would his job say? What would the school say? The other parents? His co-workers? Carl?

By the time the game had started, Rick's stomach was in knots and he hadn't heard a word Jessie said to him. When Carl was on the field, he took up all of Rick's focus, but when Carl was in the dugout, Rick's eyes were glued to Negan.

Just like before, Negan was wearing his coaching outfit, but this time his coaching technique during the game was noticeably different. Instead of vehemently cursing, Negan cheered as loudly as the parents and clapped the players on the back and kept from fighting with the umpire no matter how much he obviously wanted to. As Rick watched Negan's muscles ripple and flex, and how he tousled his hair when he pulled his cap off, Rick nearly chewed through and swallowed his bottom lip in an anxious kind of anticipation. Finally, it was time for Carl to come up to bat.

It was the third inning, and Rick had been anxiously wondering why Carl hadn't played sooner, but ultimately let it go. The score right now was currently tied at an uneven three, but the opposing team was suspected to win. The Hilltop Broncos were a private school that the Alexandrian Knights had a friendly, tense rivalry with in nearly every sports competition. Personally, Rick had a deep distaste for the Hilltop's principal, Gregory Berkley, who here and there got a DUI up and down the county. Regardless of what school the Knights were playing though, Rick hoped that Carl's team would win, especially after seeing how hard Carl was practicing and how happy it made him.

The based were nearly loaded with someone on first and surprisingly the Jones boy on third. Ron would have been on second if he hadn't been too cocky, trying to force the Jones boy to run home, which caused Ron to get tagged out and Jessie to cry out fouls at the umpire. The Hilltop's pitcher was a medium height, dark-haired boy who played pretty well. Rick noticed he leaned harder into his fast balls, that was his crutch, and of course, the first two pitches to Carl were the fast balls. Carl had two strikes against him then, and Rick had his fingers curled so tight on the bleacher's bench that his knuckles burned, but he didn't care. He watched Carl tap the metal bat against the sole of his cleats, knocking off the thick red dirt in clumps.

The pitcher winded up and then threw the ball in a white blur.

And Carl _knocked it out of the park_.

It took Rick two whole seconds to register that his eardrums heard the _ping_ of the ball against the metal bat instead of the _whump_ of the ball against the catcher's mitt. Then he was on his feet, clapping and cheering as Carl took off down the baselines. The outfielders were still halfway jogging towards the fence, forlornly looking for the baseball lost in the woods. The Hilltop side of the stands was quiet as the home team cheered the three boys all the way home. Rick could register Lori's surprised and pleased shouts alongside Shane's sharp whistling, and Jessie was bouncing on the balls of her feet, encouraging Sam to stand up and do the same. But Rick only tracked Carl's process until he was hopping back into the dugout, waving generally towards the stand with shy pride as the bill of his cap hid his eyes.

Once the cheering fell away, and with Carl out of sight, Rick abruptly realized the bet. He looked to Coach Negan who clapped the Jones boy, the other student, and Carl hard on their backs on their way in to the dugout's shade. As Coach Negan ushered up another boy to take up the bat, his gaze flickered up to the stand and caught Rick's. He traded Rick's grin of fatherly pride with his own smile of pride as it slid into more rakish territory.

The rest of the game was more of a winding down. The score resolutely remained six to three, and the second time Carl went up to bat he got fouled out by the skittish pitcher. Carl didn't seem upset by it, more smug than anything. Rick watched the rest of the game in a weird stomach twisting anxiety, and all too soon, the game ended in the seventh inning. While the boys from both teams marched across the field swapping high fives and half-muttered "Good game, good game," Rick stood up with the rest of the parents as they prepared to leave.

Some were still clapping, and Rick did too, since he had nothing to gather up compared to the others. Next to him, though, Jessie was smarting. "What a great first game of the season!" She said with overly false cheerfulness, "Carl did such a great job!" She shouldered her purse roughly, lips stretched so wide all her teeth showed.

Feeling awkward, Rick needlessly fished in his pockets for his car keys despite knowing he put them in the same left pocket every time. "Ron did pretty good, too." Unable to match Jessie's stare, he dropped his eyes down to Sam, who had yet to look up from his video game through the whole baseball game.

"Yeah!" Jessie chirped, "Better luck next time for Ron!"

"Mhm," Rick tried to remain neutral. "I need to head out." He side-stepped around Jessie, heading toward the bottom of the bleachers.

"See you later, Rick!" Jessie called after him.

Vaguely, Rick waved over his shoulder. "Bye, Jessie."

Threading through the crowd of parents and spectators, Rick went to meet up with Lori and Shane so he could congratulate Carl before his sleepover. Since they won, Rick suspected there would be nothing but sugar, sodas, ice cream, pizzas, and loud video games. He did not envy Lori and Shane, but he knew they weren't going to get on to Carl too much; once the baby comes, Rick knew that it would be either his apartment, or more likely Carl's friends' houses where all the sleepovers and parties would take place.

"Hey, Rick," Shane greeted him a little gruffly. "Helluva game, huh?" He tossed a handful of peanuts in his mouth, chewing noisily. Underneath his arm, he had two seat cushions stuffed, and Lori hanging off his elbow. Rick was glad at least that she had stopped being awkward about their affection; they were mature, civil adults and it wasn't like their impending nuptials or baby were very much of a secret.

"Hi, Shane." Rick propped his palms on his hips. "Yeah, it was. Carl did a great job. Hi, Lori. How are you feelin'?"

"Pretty good," Lori cradled her bump, her modest engagement ring catching the golden hour sun perfectly, "Still waking up every morning puking my guts out."

"Yeah, that didn't go away until you were ready to pop," Rick remembered.

"I was hoping it would be different this time." She shifted from foot to foot, and Rick noticed how swollen her ankles were despite her flip-flops. "We find out the sex next week," Lori added, brightening up her tone.

"Yeah? What are you hoping for?"

"A boy," Shane grinned, bits of peanut shell stuck between his teeth before he turned his head to the side and spat in the dirt. "We're still arguing about the names, though."

"We're not arguing," Lori argued, "we're just undecided. I want to pick a family name, but I don't want this baby to be a Junior."

Shane had just opened his mouth to argue more when thankfully Carl stumbled up, still in his uniform, mostly free of Georgia red clay. "Did you guys see that?"

"Hey! Of course, we did!"

Lori threw her arms around Carl and squashed her bump between their bodies while Shane tousled Carl's long hair. All three of them congratulated Carl, which he tolerated with shy pride and teenaged reluctance until he pushed himself away into his own space. "Can I still have the guys come over tonight?"

"Sure, we got everything set up for your sleepover," Lori said, trying to push his hair out his eyes, but he ducked out of reach last minute.

"Mom, I'm almost fifteen," Carl decidedly not-whined. "We don't have sleepovers. We just, hang out."

"And _sleep over_ night at someone's house," Rick pointed out. "Who all is gonna be there?"

"Just some guys from the team," Carl deflected. "Some of them you know. Dwayne, AJ, Louis, Ron…"

"Wait," Rick held up his hand. "The Anderson boy gave you a black-eye, and you invite him to your sleepover?"

"Ron did that to you?" Lori frowned and started looking around. "I thought I saw Jessie earlier. I'm gonna say something to her about this."

"Come on guys, don't," Carl started to protest.

Surprisingly, Shane spoke up as the voice of wisdom. "Yeah, just let it go, Lori." In a placating gesture, he wrapped his arms around her. "Carl and Ron have handled this between themselves, and Carl is being the bigger man inviting him over. I think it's real mature of him to make friends."

Clearly surprised, Rick and Lori didn't bother to hide that as they looked at him. Carl was just as surprised, but still managed to say, "Thanks, Shane."

Shane gripped Carl by the shoulder, as close as his macho-pride would let him get to a hug, though doubtlessly Carl in his teenage ways was grateful for that. "No problem. Now hurry up and get your friends. We gotta beat the pizza boy home."

Carl nodded and rushed off, kicking up more dirt in his wake. Rick shook his head wordlessly, and then sighed. "Alright. I'm gonna leave, but I'll see Carl next weekend. Good luck with tonight."

Scoffing, Lori rolled her eyes. "You're right. We'll need it." Her voice suddenly softened, "But how are you gonna stay busy this weekend, Rick?"

"Yeah, you need to put yourself out there more, Rick. Have some fun." Shane raised his eyebrows meaningfully. "Loosen up a little and go knock those battered cowboy boots with some pretty young thing."

It was Rick's turn to snort, though he couldn't stop the pink from flushing his cheeks. "Yeah, I'll do that." His eyes slid away, and he quickly moved towards the dugouts, coincidentally following Carl's path. Part of him just wanted to rush out to the parking lot and just leave and never look back, but he knew that he would see Negan again and he had a feeling that the coach wasn't one to let things go so easily. As he approached, he hovered by the gate when he heard Negan barking at his kids, his voice loud, but generally cheerful and so different from that day at practice. Rick waited, overhearing Negan in the meanwhile.

"I am so fucking proud of you, boys! You are the meanest, cleanest bunch of motherfuckers I've coached in a while. I expect you boys to take this team to goddamn state this year! You hear that? State!"

"Yes, Coach!"

"Damn right! But that means you fuckers better be doing your homework or I will wear your ass out at practice and gym class and sit your ass on the bench the whole goddamn game. Don't test me! Now get out there and enjoy your weekend. Practice starts back Monday afternoon." A whoop of cheers arose, and Negan's shout was barely able to cut over that. "Don't fuck up over the weekend! Make goddamn good choices!"

Then there was a flood of sweaty boys, changed out of their uniforms and lugging duffle bags of equipment behind them. Rick stepped out of the way, but Carl, leading a group of five, saw him and stopped. The other boys waited a little away, watching them. "Hey, Dad. Sorry I didn't say goodbye."

Rick straightened up, realizing that he probably looked suspicious just standing here. "Uh, yeah. I just wanted to tell you that you did a great job out there. That baseball scholarship is lookin' better and better."

"And so are the Major Leagues," Carl grinned. "That all you needed?"

"Um," Rick hesitated, wondering if he should be honest. "Yes. I love you, and I'll pick up from your mom's house on Friday." Before he could remember that Carl was past the age for blatant displays of affection, Rick reached out and smoothed his hand over Carl's hair. He had originally grown it out for the rock band look he was going for when he had the dream of starting a garage band and playing the guitar with Sophia, Louis, and Eliza. He had grown out of that, but kept the hair.

"Love you, too, Dad," Carl mumbled, and it was him who went in for the hug.

Shocked as he was, Rick had enough time to wrap his arms around Carl, gripping him by the back of the neck to return the hug before Carl ducked away. "I'll see you next week, Dad."

"See you, Carl." He watched him go with his friends before a deeper voice startled him.

"That was goddamn sweet," Coach Negan observed, crowding into Rick's space as he leaned towards his ear.

Rick pulled away at first in surprise, but then once he recognized Negan, leaned back in again unconsciously. "Your team did great out there," he greeted Negan, "You're a good coach."

"Have been for the past twenty years, Officer Cutthroat," he tilted his chin up, cocky, "but thank you. Now." Briskly, he clapped his palms together, the sound too loud and attention grabbing as some of the student athletes turned back around on instinct. "Ready for our date?"

Nervous, Rick couldn't control his cringe. He looked to where Carl was with his group of friends and saw that they were all dancing around on the toes of their cleats, shoving at Carl roughly and swinging their black duffle bags, their voice loud and their words indistinguishable. Rick barely caught Carl's eye before he was swarmed again by his friends and they took off running for the parking lot, the sun starting to dip low and the shadows around them stretching longer. A chill settled over Rick, and he wearily turned to face Negan again. Needlessly, he cleared his throat. "Are you sure?"

"Of course, I'm sure." Negan's megawatt smile had dimmed as he had watched Rick's less than positive reaction. "The question is, are you fucking sure? Come on, Rick. We're both fucking adults here. Who gives a shit of what anyone else has to say?"

At that, Rick wanted to point out how both of them held jobs that were constantly scrutinized by the public. With Rick as a cop and Negan as a teacher, they were always going to be held to a higher standard, especially for interacting with kids. And Rick just wasn't sure how openly happy he could be. Not that it was totally bad. There were at least one openly gay couple: Aaron and Eric, who ran a cozy bed and breakfast. But Rick was just so…afraid. He had been afraid since the accident, since he was shot, and it only got harder now that he was alone.

Negan sighed, and then reached out and touched Rick on the arm, the touch so uncharacteristically gentle that Rick shivered. He was not touched often anymore. "Alright, I can see you don't wanna, so I'll let you go. But that's a damn fucking shame, officer, because a guy like you?" Negan dragged his tongue over his teeth and lips, and Rick couldn't tell if the gesture was purposeful or not. "You deserve to be shown a real fucking good time."

In his mind's eye, Rick could see Negan walking away and how nothing in Rick's life would really change. He'd go back to his apartment, and occasionally have the boredom and loneliness broken up by Carl's visit less and less. He didn't want that. Just like he wanted Lori and Shane to be happy in their new life together _with each other_, so did Rick want something like that for himself. Before Negan could walk, Rick found himself speaking up.

"Okay."

He paused. "Okay?" A flash of hope crossed Negan's face. "Just o-fucking-kay? What's that mean?"

Rick bushed, not sure if he could say it, but he forced the words to come. "I'll go on a date with you, Negan." His fingers crawled down from his hips and into his pockets where he playing with his keys anxiously. "What did you have in mind?"

A smug look crossed over Negan's face, making him frustratingly more devilishly handsome. Rick didn't know if he should hate Negan for that or not. "Have you ever been to this restaurant called Tanya's? She makes the best shit ever. Gourmet shit."

The corners of Rick's mouth twitched up. "Sounds great. I haven't eaten anything since breakfast."

"Too nervous for me, darlin'?" Negan guessed with mock sympathy. "I fucking love it. Trust me, Rick, we're gonna have some goddamn fun tonight. Let's hit it."

* * *

When Rick woke up, his bed was empty except for him, but the sheets still smelled like a mixture of Negan's cologne, sweat and sex. He hadn't planned to invite him back, but after one glass of wine, Rick found himself letting loose like he was encouraged to. Negan was also to blame, of course, considering the things his hands were doing under the table. Rick was thankful at least that the table cloth was white, and Negan assured him that they were laundered often, so there was nothing to be embarrassed about.

Despite Rick being a little bit ashamed of his bachelor apartment because it really showed how much he needed to replace from the divorce, they went back to his place because it was closest and neither one of them had the patience to keep their hands to themselves while Negan drove them home. Rick colored red remembering he'd have to go back to Tanya's parking lot to collect his cop car. There wouldn't be a ticket, but he was sure the station would have gotten a call.

He glanced to the empty right side of the modest queen bed and sighed. Then he rolled over and winced, remembering in more detail just how thorough Negan was worshiping his body last night. Again, he sighed, and as his feet hit the floor, his head swam from the memory of the wine this time. He needed an aspirin for sure, maybe two.

By the time he made it to the kitchen, his nose finally registered the smelling of grease frying and the subtle sizzle and pop of cooking food. His nose distinguished sausage and something sweeter. Once he rounded the corner, he confirmed it was sausage and pancakes. Then he blinked at Negan in his boxers and one of Rick's old white T-shirts stretched across his back muscles and showing a fair bit of his lower back as it rode up high.

"You're still here?" Negan jumped, and then hissed as he brushed his forearm against the hot pan. Apologetic, Rick came up behind Negan and pulled him to the sink, running water over the pinkish skin. "Sorry, didn't mean to scare you."

"My fault. I forgot you were asleep. How fucking stupid is that?" Negan nodded to the stove. "Can you save my fucking pancakes there, Rick? I'm too hungry to let that shit go to waste and rummage through your cabinet for some goddamn peanut butter Captain Crunch to eat dry."

"Sorry about that." Rick moved turned down the heat for the stove's eye, feeling like a bad adult. "I forget to go grocery shoppin'."

"Yeah, I peeked around your cabinets and you barely have a pot to piss in. You don't cook much, do ya?" Without waiting for a response, Negan pressed his chest to Rick's back, and Rick's mind flitted back to last night before Negan's voice stopped his trip down memory lane. "You ever flipped a pancake before?"

"With a spatula."

"Well, we're gonna try something different together, darlin', and it works just as good if not fucking better," Negan teased. He took Rick's hand and guided it to the handle of the pan, Negan's own large hand covering his own and locking his fingers between Rick's. Together, they neatly flipped the pancake in the air, and it was perfectly golden brown, fluffy, and thick. "Not bad for your first time."

"Last night wasn't exactly my first time, you know," Rick answered, meeting Negan's eyes from underneath his lashes.

Negan grinned and leaned forward, catching Rick's mouth in his most chaste kiss yet. "Yeah, well it your first time on my thick and meaty dick, darlin'. So, I think you should just take the compliment."

Rick chuffed. "I'd rather have your sausage." He turned away to the plate of cooling sausage patties and grabbed the new bottle of Daddy Buck's syrup. "I'll set the breakfast bar and we can eat there."

"No breakfast in bed?"

"With those sheets? No."

"Well, I just figured we'd save you the trouble, darlin', but I'll fuck you right here in the kitchen, too, if you want."

Pleased, Rick blushed. "Maybe another day?" For the first time since he agreed to the date, he sounded unsure.

Negan nodded, his smile genuine and friendly. "Definitely, Rick. Oh, and I replaced that light bulb for ya. Figured I grab you a couple while I was at the store getting food and pans." He flipped the light switch, bringing Rick's attention to the new light.

"I'll pay you back for that later."

"No need. It was my goddamn pleasure."

Feeling brave, Rick wrapped his fingers around his old T-shirt, managing to pull it away from Negan's muscled chest in order to yank him between Rick's spread thighs. "Mine, too." Then he caught Negan's clever mouth in a kiss, finally getting the last word, and their mouths were too busy after that.


End file.
